


Hands

by mylifeinshadow



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:45:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylifeinshadow/pseuds/mylifeinshadow





	Hands

It started when you were a kid - this overwhelming impulse to touch things that were off limits. That one time your mom made the mistake of bringing you into an antique shop. "Keep your hands to your sides, Fox," she had told you, mere moments before you reached out for a crystal elephant. No one would know, you reasoned. Your palms itched with the need to feed this compulsion, and your jerky movements sent the crystal to the floor, shattering into a dozen shiny pieces.

The time you were grounded for a week after shaving off one of Samantha's eyebrows, knowing that using your father's razor was strictly prohibited.

The day before you started third grade, captivated by a pair of art scissors. The thrill you got from the sound they made as they sliced through thin air. It lasted only until you cut Samantha right beneath the elbow, your mother soon exchanging them for the much less exciting pair with the rounded tip. 

(Come to think of it, maybe Samantha's abduction came as a blessing for her - living her life somewhere with two eyebrows and unmarked skin, even if only for a short amount of time.)

A colossal nuisance in your adolescent years - one that you assumed you'd finally outgrown as an adult. Sure, there were temptations; fire alarms, bright red 'emergency stop' buttons. The allure was there, but the mind resisted. 

But then you got a new partner. A beautiful, intelligent partner with fiery red hair and creamy, ivory skin. And just like that, your palms begin to itch again.

You try to keep your touches innocuous enough over the years - a hand to her lower back, her shoulder, or even her own hand when you're lucky enough. But over the years, the impulse only escalates. Until finally, the ache becomes unbearable.

It all begins with a new millennium. A sweet, chaste kiss to ring in the new year. You can't get the image out of your head of the pleased smile that spread across her lips after, your mind replaying it over and over again. You find yourself digging your short fingernails into the flesh of your palms as she drives you home, the impulse to touch her stronger than ever.

You must have told her at least five times that you'll be fine. This isn't the first time you've been injured, and it certainly won't be the last. Nevertheless, she insists on coming up, doting on you as you sit uselessly on your worn leather couch. Blame it on the late hour, or the ache of you hands - crescent moon shapes now marring your palms. But as she returns to you, pain killers in hand, you can't help but reach out. Your good hand flattens against the back of her thigh, pulling her closer.

"Scully," you murmur, and she gasps your name in return. The pill bottle falls forgotten to the floor as her fingertips grasp your shoulder for balance. Emboldened by the sound of your name leaving her lips, the hand on her thigh pushes until she falls into your lap. The fingertips at your shoulder tighten, your own trailing upwards until you reach her neck. Your fingers play with the silky hair there for just a moment before pulling her forehead to your own.

It feels like an eternity that you sit there, relishing the feel of her body pressed tightly against your own. You try to figure out where to go from here - how to proceed without her spooking - when her breath touches your lips. There's little time to react before her mouth is on yours.

It's the opposite of the chaste, tentative kiss the two of you shared earlier. This one is hungry, the product of seven years of sexual tension and unspoken feelings. The small, whimpering sound in the back of her throat fuels you as your tongue slips past her lips to taste her at last.

She, of course, pulls back first, looking about as disheveled and breathless as you feel. You find yourself mesmerized by the darkening blue of her eyes as her hand moves to your chest, resting over your racing heart.

"Your shoulder," she breathes, and you can feel the disappointment in her words. She shifts in your lap and her frown deepens, clearly feeling the evidence of your desire. 

"It's fine," you insist, the words rushing from your lips in a near panic. Anything to keep her where she is. Forget zombies, forget government shadow people. You're absolutely sure that the only thing that will actually kill you is putting an end to this right now. The feeling of your heart plummeting into your stomach as she stands is only proving your theory.

"Let's get you to bed," she grins, stepping out of reach, and you resist the urge to throw an all out tantrum. You rise with a groan, and before you can even consider arguing, her hands are slipping beneath your tee shirt. Perfectly manicured nails graze the trail of hair on your belly, soft lips pressing into your neck. The next few moments are a blur. You vaguely remember the fight you had with your arm brace as you performed the frustrating task of getting your shirt off. The soft laugh against your neck, the murmered concern that you shot down right away.

It's a frantic rush of tongues and teeth and carefully discarded clothes as you move into the bedroom. You find yourself on your back before you know it, Scully hovering over you. And suddenly you're emerged in soft, wet, tight heat. 

Your good hand is everywhere - feeling the muscles maneuver under her firm thighs, her rosy nipples hardening beneath your palm as you cup her breasts, the slickness you spread over her swollen clit as you press just so, her body trembling as she cries out. 

After she's collapsed on top of you, head tucked beneath your chin with the most adorable hum of contentment, she finds your hand with hers. Lips press against your palm and for the first time in forever, your hands are still. Sated.


End file.
